


On Making A Mask

by Flustered_Sparrow



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Floor 4, Hunger Games AU, I Don't Even Know, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:55:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24605779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flustered_Sparrow/pseuds/Flustered_Sparrow
Summary: Eric Mathews was forgettable in every way, though he never asked to be. But it changed with just four words."I volunteer as tribute!"Congratulations to 'SwaggerSouls', Victor of the 42nd Annual Hunger Games
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 32
Collections: victors' tower (stories from floor 6)





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WreakingHavok](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WreakingHavok/gifts).



Eric is forgettable. He never asked for it. No matter how hard he tried, he was always placed solidly in the middle of every competition, test, task, not high - or low - enough to be caught in the spotlight. His face was lost in a crowd, beneath the hundreds of others just the same. All his life, he was never noticed, as much as he wanted to be. It changed with just four words.

"I volunteer as tribute!"

Mason looks out into the assembly, eyes settling finally on Eric's face. The crowd parts to let him through, whispers following him as he strides up to the stage. He grabs Mason in a rough hug before he is dragged into the light. The escort, a lady dolled up in a dress made of leaves, looks him up and down, asking the question with a sugared voice. "And who might you be, deary?"

He is wearing a scarf pulled up over his mouth and nose. There is recognition in people's eyes as they stare pityingly up at him, and he turns his gaze away to the cold lens of a camera. A masked man stares back. Somehow, the eyes of the Capitol still cannot see him. 

They are still waiting for a name. He wants them to see, to know, to remember. So, he gives a name that the Capitol can hear.

A name comes to him. It’s a name that Mason gave him when he showed off a new word in his vocabulary. It had been thrown around anytime he was mocked. It had become synonymous with days of running through leaves in Autumn, of climbing trees, of days spent laughing to their sides hurt. Now it was the title of another tribute, of a free spirit condemned to death, or worse.

"Swagger Souls. My name is Swagger Souls."

_~~Suddenly, the District seems so awfully far away.~~ _

* * *

There is a long train ride to the Capitol. They speed through forests laden with pale blossoms that drift in the breeze. Too soon they change to fields and buildings of the next district, and Swagger has to look away to stop the tears from flowing. He does not look up until footsteps echo on the cold metal floor. H2ODelirious is standing in the doorway, regarding him with hooded eyes.

He moves inside, Swagger inches away. There is a silence between them. Then, "Why?"

He's looking at him curiously, head tilted to one side. Volunteers aren't common in District 7, there are no Careers tripping over each other to get a place in the games. People resign to their death and march away without question. No-one has called out for over a decade. And out of everyone, Eric, ordinary, forgettable Eric, is the one to break the cycle. Why was it him?

"I'm not really sure-"

"I don't believe you. There's always a reason."

Swagger thinks for a second. _Was it for him? He wanted to be seen, didn’t he? Was there… something more?_ Slowly, he forms words. "I think... I did it because Mason was someone. He was going to be _something._ I- I wasn't. Back in the District, I was just no-one."

"Well, Swagger Souls, think about who you want to be. If you are no-one, _make_ yourself someone. Trust me, it makes all the difference." Swagger yearns to yell that he _is_ someone, but he knew it wouldn’t be true.

The train is slowing down now. The escort ushers the victor out through the door, but not before he calls out one last thing. "And remember Mason. Always remember." Then he's left blinking as the Capitol looms above him.

_Make yourself someone. For Mason._

_~~It's not until after the train stops does he remember who the last volunteer was.~~ _

* * *

His stylist walks in, demure yet menacing. A snap of her fingers and the prep team is on him, tugging and pulling him any direction they pleased. As his stylist brushes make-up over his face, she looks him directly in the eyes. "So, Swagger Souls, who do you want to be?"

He doesn't know what to say. "I don't know yet. But I want to be someone."

She stares at his face for a second. Then she sighs and continues to coat his face in makeup. He notices how the brush never falls below his nose. There's cold paint applied in careful dabs across his brow. From the tinge on his stylist's fingers, he can tell it’s green, painted leaves swirling around his eyes. When she hands him the mirror, he's hit with a wave of nostalgia. It falls to the floor with a clatter.

A piece of fabric is pulled over his mouth and a wooden helmet falls over his head. Brown eyes peer through slits as he sees what he has become. Some sort of wooden warrior, chest plate and all, with beautifully detailed bark and leaves drooping from his arms. Generic, ordinary, _boring_. They always like to dress up District 7 with the greens and browns of the forests they spent their life in, at least for the chariots. There is little interesting they can work with, and the crowd’s eyes will skim across him as if he didn’t exist. He knows this.

He still climbs into the chariot with his head held high. 

_~~In District 7 they still watch. They look outside, to where trees tower into the heavens, and then back at the sapling the Capitol takes. Sometimes, the tears fall like fresh rain on the forest floor. They reach out to tap on wood, to hope that this time they won’t wilt. In the white-washed waste of the Capitol, some trees die, some trees grow.~~ _

_~~But none ever thrive.~~ _ ~~~~


	2. Chapter Two

_"Hey Swagger, what the hell are you doing?"_

_Seven-year-old_ _Eric looked down at Mason far below him. A cool breeze passed through the autumn leaves, the dappled patterns on the forest floor shifting in time. "I'm looking for dragons!"_

_"Dragons? Why'd you look in here?"_

_"Why not?"_

_"Mate, this is the last place you'd ever find a dragon. Besides, they don't exist!"_

_"You don't know that!"_

_"Well, my mum says they aren't!"_ _Eric swings down from the tree. "Why did you go looking for dragons anyway?"_

_"I want to slay one!" He pulls an axe from behind his back. "I stole this off my dad. I don't think any dragons stand chance!" He swings it as menacingly as he can, despite it being more than half his height. Mason openly laughs at him._

_"_ _You stole an axe for that?"_

_"Axes are cool! And terrifying! Besides, it's his day off, he won't know." He rested the weapon against the tree trunk and sat down next to it. "I just wish there was a dragon."_

_"Why a dragon? Not a bear, or a tiger?"_

_"Only knights slay dragons, and they're heroes. I want to be a knight."_

_"You know what else knights do?"_

_"What?"_

_"They save princesses. And rescue them from towers and carry them away and give them big kisses." Mason makes a loud smacking sound with his lips and leans over, causing Eric to scrunch his eyes and push him away in childish disgust_

_"_ _Ew_ _! Gross!"_

_"Marry me, sir Swagger!" He puts on a falsetto voice and fake swoons. "Noble sir Swagger, who saves all damsels in distress!"_

_"Stop, dude, or I'll be forced to use my axe!" Mason jumps back in mock surprise, smothering chuckles Eric struggles to lift the axe. "Run or perish!"_

_"Ooh,_ _Swagger's_ _got out the big words again!" His laughter stops as he glances at the sky, streaked pink as dusk begins to settle. "Sorry mate, I gotta go, mum's wanting me back soon. See you, sir Swagger! And if you rescue any ladies, tell me!"_

_Eric looks at the figure as he dashes back through the winding forest trail. With a sigh, he picks up the axe and starts to trudge back home._

* * *

He's in the training hall. The specialist left Swagger own devices the moment he saw him and is in deep conversation with another trainer. Swagger doesn't care. The axe sits comfortably in his hands as he swings at the wooden dummy again and again. He isn't afraid to show his strengths to the other tributes, indeed he relishes the idea that he could inspire fear into the hearts of the careers before the Games have even begun.

He doesn't notice the fact that there is only one gaze watching him as he assaults the dummy.

Said person stands awkwardly to the side of him, wincing as each strike bites deeper into the wood. He fiddles with his hands and shifts his weight from foot to foot, anxious to be within ten feet of any tribute. After almost cutting clean through the dummy, Swagger finally notices him. "Oh, were you waiting for me?"

The boy nods hurriedly. "Sorry, dude, I get... carried away. Here ya go." He passes the axe over to him, noticing how it sags in his arms. He's not accustomed to its weight. To be honest, Eric doesn't think he'd be accustomed to any weight at all, the kid is a pitiful creature that looks like just the weight of a falling leaf could bring him to his knees.

"Do you need help?" He looks up from the axe, startled that Eric hasn't walked away yet. Hesitantly, he nods. Eric grabs a second axe.

"So the first thing you want to do is hold it like this." He reaches over and corrects the kid's grip. "Hold it lower. Don't choke the head."

They can hardly swing it. The metal blade almost bounces off the wood, hardly leaving behind a scratch. Eric hides a smile. "I think you need a little more practice."

He grabs a much smaller weapon, a tomahawk. It didn't hold the same power, used not to fell a tree but to chop firewood. Even it looked big in the boy's arms. _This is going to take a while._

As he teaches the kid to swing at the dummy, he strikes up conversation, as clipped and anxious as it may be. "So, what district are you from?"

"Eight."

"How old are you?"

"Fifteen." It takes Eric by surprise. For someone only two years younger, he is certainly lacking in stature, even to him. 

"What's your name?"

"...George." They fall into a rhythm of hacking away at the wood. Eventually, Eric breaks it with another question.

"Were you a volunteer?"

He freezes. The axe drops from his hands, and the older only just grabs it before it hits his foot. George sinks to his knees, head sagging and tears gently rolling down his face. "I just needed to save Rosie..."

Eric wraps his arms around his thin frame. "I'm sure she knows that."

"But she'll grow up brotherless..."

"Hey! You don't know that! For all we know, you could be the next victor, second in a row!"

George looks up at Eric through bleary eyes. He knows that it's a blatant lie. Somehow, he still finds it in him to smile, as weak as it may be. "What's your name?"

"Eric."

"And who did _you_ volunteer for?" 

He pauses for a second. Why should he tell George? Why did he ever even get into the conversation? There was no use getting attached to a tribute destined to die. But, something had awoken inside him. Pity? Kindness? Or, understanding? Whatever it was, he whispered a name back as the trainers came to pull them apart. "Mason."

Even as he was dragged away, George broke into a genuine grin. "For Mason."

"For Rosie."

And across the training centre, he feels a jolt of pride as George's axe swings straight through the dummy. 

* * *

_"Who do you want to be?"_

_His mentor is asking again, stylist by his side. There is no mask to muffle his words this time, nothing to hide their meaning behind. The question hangs in the air._

_Swagger thinks of Mason, of George and Rosie. This time, he answers with certainty._

_"I want to be a hero."_

The interview is a trainwreck. Swagger stutters through his words, and despite Rajj's best attempts to present him as worthwhile, he can see the ratings drop lower and lower by the second. It's only when the Peacekeepers walk onstage and shove him off in plain sight that he realises they've run an advertisement through his performance. 

His shoulders slump as he slinks off into the wings. He's in a charcoal suit with foil creating a suit of amour around him. Another helmet is heavy upon his head. Swagger still lifts his chin as he walks by the other tributes. 

George is dressed in pale pink, airy clothing highlighting his frail form. They've somehow managed to make his face even paler than before. Eric gives his arm a squeeze. "You'll do great out there. For Rosie."

"For Mason."

He gives another squeeze and disappears into the shadows. Vaguely, he wonders how long they'll survive.

* * *

The arena is a hellscape. Black rocks divided by glowing streams of lava, a dark, soot-stained sky. Before the countdown had even begun, Swagger had ripped a strip of fabric from his sleeve and wrapped it around his nose and mouth to protect from the thick smoke that hung heavy in the air. It began.

 _Ten._ Swagger looks around, adrenaline rushing through his veins.

 _Nine._ The careers hold his gaze with malice.

 _Eight._ He tears his eyes away.

 _Seven._ The cornucopia is a shining golden building in the middle of the volcano.

 _Six._ It's so close yet so

 _Five._ He can only run away.

 _Four._ He glances at George, shivering on his own podium.

 _Three._ Their eyes meet. A nod. Together.

 _Two._ He wonders if anyone will remember them when they die.

 _One._ He wonders why they volunteered in the first place.

 _Let the Games begin!_ They sprint away from the cornucopia, from the bloodshed and the pain. Off into the distance.

"For Mason."

"For Rosie."

* * *

"There are dragons in the arena!"

Swagger's eyes shot open as he was startled out of sleep. "Dragons?"

"These... snake-mutts! With giant feathery wings!"

He looked towards the boy standing trembling at the mouth of the cave. The days of meagre food and endless running had certainly taken their toll, nothing left but skin pulled taut over bones. Eric was surprised he'd even lasted this long. 

There was a growl from outside. Eric's axe was in his hand and he pushed in front of George, shielding him with his own body. Something slithered by, caught in his peripherals. Before he could even register what was happening, a creature landed with a thump at their doorstep.

It was a hulking beast with lurid yellow eyes that studied them in cold, predatory intent. Glowing red lines painted divides between ebony black scales, like magma beneath polished obsidian. Two wings stretched out behind it, though as is slithered closer, Eric found that they weren't feathery in the slightest. More like... knives, black metal blades layered into some semblance of natural shape. There was no doubt in Eric's mind that they would slice easily through flesh. 

The axe in his hand suddenly seemed small. 

He looked at George, so small and frail behind him. Once, he had thought he could take on a dragon. He hadn't spared any thought to who he might be fighting them for. No consideration for the damsel in distress. 

But damn him if he wasn't going to do his best to save this one.

* * *

It was the smoke that got to him in the end. Swagger had slain every beast that crossed their path, battled everything that dared to come between them and victory. He couldn't fight for them when George collapsed to the ground, coughing and heaving. His body was never strong enough to survive the Games in the first place, let alone the sickness that the smoke spread. And there was nothing Eric could do to save him. 

"Don't worry about me, I'll be fine!" He managed a weak smile though every word was a pain. "Go on without me."

Eric could hardly bring himself to leave him. "For Rosie, for Mason?"

This time George shook his head. "For me."

* * *

Congratulations to 'SwaggerSouls', Victor of the 42nd Annual Hunger Games.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter I guess? I'm sorry for making OCs (George and Rosie), I know they can get annoying. Sorry, but I wasn't sure who else to put.
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed.


End file.
